


Whiskey and Adrenaline

by GeekWithTea



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Batman kills people, Batman needs a therapist, Bisexual Characters, Drug Abuse, Established Relationship, F/F, Former Joker/Harley Quinn, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy have doctorates and know what to do with them, Hero Joker and Villain Batman, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jim Gordon hates everything, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Role Reversal, Slow Burn, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-12-30 23:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12119904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekWithTea/pseuds/GeekWithTea
Summary: The Joker, "hero" and daredevil of Gotham has been given a new challenge. A new vigilante called Batman has declared war on the mafia and innocent people are taking the fallout. With the help of Dr Harleen Quinzel and Dr Pamela Isley, Joker faces his greatest threat. Meanwhile, Alfred is on a mission to save the self destructing Bruce Wayne.





	1. A Brand New Game

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I would love to promise everyone a proper drafting schedule, but as I have 11 midterms, a paper and work for this semester, that isn't likely. However, I will be working on this from time to time. TW for Alcoholism, and Drug Abuse. Admittedly I am a bit new to the DC universe so not everything may be fully accurate. Base my lore off what I am told by people, the Telltale Batman games, Gotham, Arkham Asylum games, some of the movies and a couple of comics I read.

The sign of a grin appeared on the moon, and the man’s own grin grew. Gordon stood on the rooftop, stoically trying not to appear frightened.

“Boo.” Of course, it took little to destroy the façade. Gordon jumped and turned to look at Joker, for a moment with wide eyes, but the seasoned cop took a deep breath and composed himself in record time.

“Hello.”

“You say, ‘hello’ but what I think you mean is ‘fuck off.’” Joker pokes Gordon in the cheek, where one of his dimples would be if he ever bothered to smile. In character, the man frowns deeper. “Aw, why so serious?” He chortles.

“You know what I think about you-“

“Undying love?”

“Undying hatred. What I was going to say was we need your help. Another one of those vigilante types. He attacked Carmine Falcone.”

“That’s not so bad. I do that all the time.”

“Really? Never would have figured it out myself-“ Gordon began.\

Joker gasped. “Is that a joke! Wonderful! We must take a photo for the occasion!” Pulling out a Polaroid that was almost obnoxiously old, he snapped a photo of the perturbed commissioner. Pretending to wipe a tear from his eye, he chuckled. “Magnificent! Baby’s first joke.”

“Very funny. Now will you let me finish?” Joker nods. He knows not to stretch out a joke…too much. “Excellent. Carmine Falcone wasn’t injured, but his niece was blown to pieces, and Falcone will take our heads if we don’t catch this asshole.”

“Do we know who they are?”

“He goes by the name ‘Batman’. Yes I see that laughter and we all had a good chuckle too before he put three of my officers in hospital. One may not even be able to walk again.” Gordon hissed, but for once the anger was not directed at him.

“…So, want me to kill him?”

“…If you deem it necessary.” In other words, yes. Excellent.

“Well, Commissioner Gordon, your resident nutcase is at your service! Please send the details to Harleen Quinzel and she will let me in on what I need to know. Later!” With that, he stepped off the building. No point being a superhero if he can’t have a little pizzazz here and there…or a lot of it.

“Oh sugar~” He crones into the mic of his ex-girlfriend. “I know you are eating at Pam’s place, but I need your help for a mission. It’s very special. Gordon came himself!” He chuckled, knowing Harley would get his joke.

“Fuck off Joker.” Pamela hissed. It turns out he was right after all if she could hear his witty commentary.

“Hi Pudding!” She giggles as Pamela groans at the nickname. If it didn’t annoy the new girlfriend so much, neither of them would probably continue using their old nicknames from when they were together. It had been a messy time for both of them, drugs, alcohol and issues, but they had both cleaned up. Somewhat. He enjoyed a few drinks frequently and she had hooked up with her drug dealer. Pamela was too much of a hipster to lace her shit, so he didn’t worry at all, and Harley stopped worrying when he proved that he would grab a glass instead of a bottle for the tequila. In other words, it was all good.

“So apparently we got some guy named Batman running around and blowing up gangsters and beating up police officers.”

“Good. I like him already.” Pamela grinned. It was no secret that she hated cops. It had almost cost her the PhD when she punched a police officer in the face. Mind you, she just hated people in general so what else was new? The biologist was more plant than human at times.

“Yeah well, Gordon doesn’t and he kind of expunged our records. So I got to check him out. Well, I don’t have to, but I want to.” He grinned, darting through the alley. “Sounds like my kind of guy.”

“Ooh! I just got his file…” Suddenly he heard the sound of two women howling in laughter. Now he very much wanted in on this joke. “Mr J! H-he, he’s dressed like a bat!” Harleen can barely squeeze out between gasps for air, and he isn’t sure if Pamela is even breathing at this point.

“That, is phenomenal. Batman dresses like a bat. Can I get your analysis on this guy?”

“Doctor Harleen Quinzel in the house! I got to admit, this one is a bit harder to read, since, you know I haven’t met the guy. But he looks like he could be one of my patients.” She snickers. “Looks like one of those angst types.”

“Might have been part of the army with how good of shape he is in.” Doctor Pamela Isley mused.

“Seems like one of those hypermasculine types, like the serious kind. Not the goofy kind with a truck but, yeah Pam I think military nailed it. He’s got to have a lot of dough though. That suit doesn’t come cheap.”

“Rich masculine guy who may have been in the army. Sounds great!” This was going to be a fun night, wasn’t it?

A shadow covered him and suddenly a strong arm wrapped around his neck. Oh hell no. “You got to take me to dinner first, deary.” He chuckled. With the nimbleness of an acrobat, he twisted around. “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.” Kicking a slender leg through the air directed towards his head, he used his face to backflip out, landing like a proper showman. “Jack jumped over the candlestick. I would assume you’re the bat everyone keeps talking about, or does anyone else have the nerve to dress like that?”

He didn’t say anything, but he stood up and walked towards him. It was unnerving, viewing such a mix of feral and control at once. It was also kind of exhilarating, he had to admit. No, it was absolutely exhilarating.

“You want to play? I can play.” He grinned. Pulling out the Joker gas, an invention that used to be lethal before Gordon threw a fit, he pulled out the key with his teeth.

“You look like you could have a good laugh.” He cackled, bowling it towards his leg. Unfortunately, he moved too quickly. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to do it from the front, but it looked so cool when it worked. Damn. It meant this one had half a brain at least.

“Good dodge!” Well, turns out he didn’t dodge so well with a knee to the face. Joker coughed, spitting up blood and a tooth, which he quickly pocketed. It was easier to jam the thing back in then get a replacement. “Why my face? That’s my best feature!” He gagged slightly on the blood pouring from his nose. Damn, those legs could crush a watermelon with that much coverage. Maybe if they got to know each other a bit better, he could get his number.

“You are part of this corruption in this city!”

“Ooh! You speak! Doesn't answer about the face, though that was technically rhetorical.” If Joker sounded like he smoked a pack a day he may not have been so keen to speak either. Batman shoved him into the wall. 

“Dog of the cops, just on the payroll of this fucking city.” Spittle hit his face. He’d go to get tested, but he suspected this man had never had the opportunity to catch anything. Pity.

“Actually, I do this for free. Do it for kicks, technically.” He shrugged, not really phased by the declaration. “Funny thing, I know someone you’d get along really well with. She talks like that after a Long Island.” He snickered, remembering the time Pam almost got arrested three weeks ago.

“Disgusting.” He shoved him down on the ground as he walked away.

“What, you get paid for this? You still think you are different than me? You’re pretty much Edgy Deathstroke.” He laughed. “You’re no better than me, get your head out of your ass.”

Batman whipped around, clearly offended. Joker rolled his eyes. “So, are you going to shove me against a wall and jack off to some honour speech?”

“Don’t. Get. In. My. Way.”

“Honey, that only works if I’m intimidated by you.” He chuckled, shrugging as he walked off, planning his next move. “I’ve seen worse.” Ah. He was far enough. What if he dropped another gas bomb? That should work...and…he’s gone. Damn. That would have been badass.

Oh well. He was sure he’d have another chance soon. This was going to be fun.


	2. Knowledge is Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Bruce continue their game while Joker begins to learn what he is dealing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to edit the chapters so the ladies were going by their proper civilian names. Don't worry, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn will arrive soon enough in this story... =)

Alfred opened his bedroom to find his charge passed out dressed as a bat. Sighing, he took his glove off and checked his pulse. It was still going, and with a further scan down his arm, he didn’t spot any needle marks. Hmm. Progress. Or Master Wayne had yet to locate his drug dealer for the heroin that Alfred had dumped into the sewers. He did however smell a little too much like the crown royal in the basement, and the offending bottle was found tucked under his unconscious body. With a great deal of effort, the 60 year old dragged Bruce Wayne into his bedroom, and hauled him up into his bed. He pulled another pamphlet for an addiction rehab facility, this one outside of Metropolis. Turning him to his side, he sighed heavily and placed the garbage can beside him just in case and searched his drawers for any more drugs or alcohol, and came out with four needles which were snapped and disposed of quickly. The glass of the empty needle nicked Alfred, but he just pulled a bandaid from his pocket and sighed before going to bed until the master woke up at 12 PM.

As he walked past, his eyes rested on a photo of the four of them. It had been a real shame, and even worse what had happened to the boy. When was the last time that he had smiled? When was the last time Alfred had smiled? It felt like a hundred therapists and ten different medications, but nothing was working. He was about to step back into his room but was interrupted by a whimper. Quickly, he walked into Master Bruce’s bedroom. Another nightmare. Sitting beside Bruce, he rubbed his forehead.  
“It’s okay. You made it. You’re okay.” He soothed him, but his boy hardly seemed to notice. However, the distress seemed to lessen on his face. That was good. “I’m here for you.” It appeared he wouldn’t be sleeping in his own bed tonight. “I’m here for you Bruce.”  
___  
“…And like that he was gone! Like some kind of…”

“Bat?” Pamela smirked, folding her arms, looking all kinds of smug.

“He called you a dog of the city? That is kind of rude.” Harley pouted.

“To dogs.”

“Hardy har har. Aren’t I the professional comedian around here?”

“Well…” Harleen looked to the side.

“No. Youtube doesn’t count.” Pamela rolled her eyes.

“I can’t go wrong with a couple of thousand subscribers can I not?” 

“People who scream at video games have bigger followings than you.” Wow. Rude. “Besides, I think your job is helping others become alcoholics.” Joker just shrugged. 

“So, what are you planning to do about this guy? I mean, this could be a pretty big threat. He sounds, well…like he could be a problem. He’s already crossed a line-how far is it going to go? Like, he attacked you out of nowhere-“

“Well, I mean I was looking to attack him out of nowhere. I just figured he heard me talking to you to. We were making fun of him before he showed.”

“Yes, but I think he would have tried to kill you. Where are his boundaries? What is his code?”

“Since when did I have a code?”

“You have boundaries. You work with the cops, even if you don’t really care what they think. He has no ‘cop’ to try to arrest him if he steps too far out of line.” Harleen folded her arms.

“So are you saying that I should drop him your card?” He snickered.

“I’m saying you may not survive the next time. Do you know what he did to his niece?”

“Yeah, he blew her up. Wrong car I guess for the car bomb.”

“Of course the cop didn’t tell you.” Pamela rolled her eyes while pulling up an article from the Gotham Sentinel. “She got blown up from the inside.”

“…how the actual fuck? How do you get a bomb inside of someone and why didn’t you tell me about it sooner…?

“I decided to search the news on the guy after you went quiet. They say it was some kind of nanobot in the food.”

Joker let out a nervous laugh. “Ha…ha…well, that is certainly a splat-tastrophe.” The girls groaned, but he continued “um…if you swallow a bomb, should you…induce vomiting?”

Pamela just stared if he was an idiot. Harleen looked a touch more worried. “Why? Do you think he got one inside you?”

“No, probably not, but I probably am going to eat at home for the next ten years.” Joker side-eyed the window, slightly worried for his safety. It was silent for several minutes.

“I have no doubts you can handle yourself, but…this man needs a doctor, not a beatdown. Fighting may just radicalize him even more.” Harleen frowned.

“Well, let me catch him and I’ll let you use that DSM thingy on him. Ask him about his childhood and if he had a shitty mom. If he’s rich you can charge a murderer fee.”

“DSM-V, and I am a clinical psychologist, not a therapist. Don’t send him to Arkham Asylum though. I don’t care what that cop says, people only get worse there.”

Pamela scoffed. “Not sure you can get much worse than that.”

Joker for once, remained silent.  
___  
Bruce Wayne turned on the news to see what he had done that night. He had been sober in his actions, but drunk enough that it could have invented memories, and there was a particular one he was questioning. A man with a painted face, scars and a purple suit, which for all he knew could have been a potent drug trip. No, he hadn’t had heroin last night. His dealer was off picking up good stuff in Metropolis. 

“…The search is on for the newly infamous criminal, Batman, who is still under warrant for the murder of Vittoria Falcone…” he turned off the TV with a smile. Excellent. He still remembered Falcone’s face as she had splattered all around the operation. Perhaps he would think about whom he was hurting when he ordered another job. Digging under his mattress, he pulled out a bottle of white wine from 1862. Excellent quality, and Alfred had never found it. The longer they talked about him, the more to celebrate. Fear was power, and fear would bring Carmine Falcone to his knees. Once he was gone, well, there would be no need for Bruce Wayne. Now that was an idea worth celebrating. Not bothering to look for a glass, knowing full well Alfred had scavenged for his glasses, he re-opened the bottle, gulping down the bottle. Damn, didn’t mean to take that much. He’d have to run to the cabinet, or perhaps even the liquor store. He placed the bottle at his back and sat back, watching the news.

“Tylenol, Master Wayne?”

“Don’t mind if I do, Alfred.” He smiled pleasantly, cupping two pills and chasing them down with water. He had thought about asking for some alcohol, but that would put pressure on the game. Bruce knew Alfred hated his…habits…but if he drew too much attention, then it would cause strain. So he just did his thing while Alfred tried to stop his habits without talking about it. Bruce never was one for talking.

“It…is excellent to see you in a good mood, sir.” Alfred paused for an uncomfortably long time.

“What? Am I not always?”

“Oh. Of course.” The smile was fake, but Bruce wasn’t going to say it.

“Sir, another pamphlet arrived.” Bruce sighed. Here we go. “Your father and mother have always been supportive of the drug rehab-“ Okay. He didn’t feel like playing today.

“They want me to send a check to them?”

“Yes, well it seemed to me they have excellent services,” Alfred watched him too closely. “Facilities kept away from the city, job training programs for those who need it, and they are experimenting with both art and music therapy, as well as the standards.”  
Alfred’s body language was unsettling. His folded hands rubbed around, and his shoulders were hunched. It was a shame to see him like this, but he comforted himself by remembering that Alfred would soon be free from working for the Waynes. Just another reason to  
take down Carmine Falcone faster.

“That sounds like an excellent program.” He pulled out his checkbook, as he always did, making a note to donate 20 000 versus the usual 10 000 as a form of apology. “I wish them well.” He handed him the check.

For a moment, Alfred looked disappointed, but like the actor he was, he quickly cleared his visage. “Excellent. I will let them know right away.”

Quickly, as if he wanted to be anywhere but there, he took the check, no doubt to the bank to deliver it. As soon as the sound disappeared, Bruce pressed two on his speed dial.

“Lucius, can you tell me anything about a purple wearing person with the GCPD.”

“Usually people start their calls with ‘good morning’. But, I can help you.” It was silent for a bit. “Apparently, he is a hired criminal who goes by ‘Joker’. His record has been cleared, but if you wait I can tell you what he was charged for. It may take me a while. Probably a sweetheart deal.”

“Go right ahead, but I am sure I will have disposed of him before then. Thank you, Lucius.”


	3. A New Encounter, A New Face

Joker, but now known as Jack Morgan looked at his freshly washed face in the mirror. He didn’t frown outwardly but did just a little bit. Those scars looked a lot better red than pale. He pulled out a tube of foundation and got to work, transforming from vigilante daredevil clown to afternoon bartender. 3-11, perfect for getting money for his broke ass and then breaking some ass later that night. He looked in the mirror, debating if he wanted to keep his scars more visible or hide them like he hid the drunken tattoo he got when he was 19. It really depended on the clientele. Youth avoided him generally, but older people tipped him more, thinking he was a veteran. Of course, that may have been a rumour he started, same with how he told drunken young adults that he had personally been part of a Human Centipede, which did give him tips…

There was also that Batman guy around, and that guy seemed like a day-drinker. Entire bottle of foundation it is. Lacking the money to pay the hydro bill seemed more pleasant than death.

“What the fuck are you doing in my bathroom you have your own house!” Pamela banged on the door, not looking overly impressed.

“Just painting my face.”

“You slept in to 1. How do you function as an adult?” Pamela groaned.

“I don’t. LOL.”

“You are a grown fucking man, no matter how much of a child you pretend to be, don’t you dare say LOL in regular conversation.”

“…LMFAO.” The door swung open violently and Joker found himself tossed onto the doorstep outside the house. Excellent. Now to go to work…and…yeah.

“Pamela, I mean I know I’m a looker but my clothes are still inside the house. Please?”

No response. “You are going to curse this neighbourhood by exposing them to my naked body!”

No response.

“I’m infested with fleas and so are my clothes!” A pair of pants hit him in the face, along with a t-shirt and his uniform which was snuggly hidden in a Walmart bag. “Thanks.”

He turned behind and a three year old stared in shock in the neighbours yard. Pausing slightly, he called out. “Don’t do drugs, kid.” Quick slipping on his shirt and pants, he walked home, taking slight pleasure in the idea of a revolted Pamela discovering his 3 day worn boxers still sitting in the bathroom.  
\-----  
James Gordon already felt the headache increase exponentially, as the reason he still smoked pulled up in a black limo. The driver stepped out of the vehicle, and opened the door. Another man, who could have been the clone walked out with an AK-47, and with his hand aimed at the window mimicked a wave with his hand, and the ASL spelling for CF. It was a signal to lay down weapons, but Commissioner Gordon kept his hand on his gun. It had always been one of his biggest fears that this signal would be used against them if no one was careful. Mind you, he hadn’t been getting much sleep at night in the first place since that damn deal.

“Commissioner Gordan, my pleasure.” The mob boss croned from between two gunmen.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Or rather, all his, but the last thing he wanted was for him to take his men out.

“How does it fair with catching the Bat?”

“I have informed my playing card about his presence, and knowing my man, he will take him down.”

“Are you sure? He decimated an entire swat team.” On cue, one of the guards reloaded methodically. A pit sunk in his stomach.

“It is certainly better than your plan! We know what we are giving our lives for, but these civilians didn’t sign up for any of this. We are not going on a witch hunt.”

“I didn’t ask for my niece to be killed!” Carmine’s voice hinted to just a bit of a emotion, just enough that Gordon knew that given a quiet room with no audience, someone would have been murdered on the spot. “Pardon me. I will admit it has been a…vexing time.”

“I can imagine.” Gordon sympathized. If something had happened to Barbara he would have been beside himself. It was hard to even imagine something like this happening to her, but it was also hard to sympathize with a gangster. “We are certainly working on our end up here.”

Carmine Falcone’s face was blank, and Gordon knew instantly he was displeased with the answer. “Between you and me, this clown pet of yours has never been fond of us, or me.”

“I would be worried less about who likes you versus who is interested in your goals. Joker is a wild card, yes, but I hold the deck. He owes me for why he is not rotting in a jail cell. He knows this too, and has explicitly noted this to me as well. He will do your bidding on my orders. The mafia may not have many friends in the GCPD.” At this, Falcone had a slight knowing smile that sent shivers down his spine, but he continued. “But an unsanctioned masked vigilante murdering civilians has far less.”

Falcone was silent for a moment, debating whether to shoot Gordon for his bravado or laugh it off. A slight smile line curved in his mouth, which Gordon watched intensely as his hand tightened on his gun. A loud laugh erupted before the bullet and Falcone wiped a tear from his eye. “You know why I like you Gordon? You have balls, but you know when to stand down, even if they don’t.” Gordon chuckled as well, out of relief.

“Good day commissioner. I will be checking in on the investigation again.” He turned, walked away and soon drove off, allowing Gordon to breathe once more.

“That…went well.” Montoya remarked from behind him. “How long can we keep them inactive.”

“I don’t know Montoya, I don’t know.”  
\---  
“You’re late.” Cobblepot scowled. “If you weren’t a favourite among the drunkards, you’d be a favourite among the homeless.”

“Aww, Penguin-“

“It’s Cobblepot. Oswald Cobblepot. How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” The nose and higher pitched cockney accent did not help his case.  
“For as many dollars as I help you launder.”

He scoffed. “I don’t know what you talk about, and frankly I am appalled.” He adjusted his monocle and leaned heavily on his walking stick, probably moments away from hitting him with it. Jack just chuckled, remembering the business downstairs. Drug trafficking was legal, right? He snickered. Sure, he should probably report it to Gordon, but let’s be real. There was some shady stuff on his former record, and not too many people wanted to hire Jack Morgan and actually pay him 45 cents above the minimum wage.

“Sure, sure.” He turned around and silently Jack mimicked a squawk. 

“I saw that.”

“Like I’ve seen the basement.”

“Fuck off Jack.” It was pretty much a catchphrase at this point. Cobblepot walked off, ironically to the basement. “Not a word.”

Looking over at his bar, he quickly smoothed over the wood finish of the bar. A man had to have pride in his work, and he loved this beacon of hedonism, even if to be fair, it was relatively tame due to richer clientele and a lack of strippers. It was certainly better than dealing with a bunch of drunk teenagers pretending they had legitimate IDs, back when he used to be the one who made the fake ones. Clipping on his apron and nametag, he grinned, leaning back on the side, observing the different liquors, mentally categorizing how much was in each one. He used his foot to open the door to the fridge, enjoying the fact that it was well stocked. This should be a good day.  
\---  
His dealer was back. Thank god. Usually he went to pick his material up on Monday, but due to a Superman related incident, Cobblepot had been delayed getting back in town. It was Wednesday, and it was becoming harder to avoid the withdrawal, even with alcohol. Alfred had almost caught him trying to sniff the gas in his Camaro, which quite frankly would have been humiliating. He had run out Tuesday morning and the withdrawal was starting to catch up with him. His back was sore, and he was excited for another injection.  
Opening the door, he struggled inside.

“You okay? You look too young to be having back problems.” A chipper voice answered from the counter, a far cry from the thick gravelly voice of Waylon Jones. Turning his head, he looked at the strange figure. Wispy green hair, purple apron and a ridiculously large grin.

“I’m here for Cobblepot.” He sighed. It was better to cut to the chase.

“Oh? He’s in his office. Let me call him.” There was a knowing smile there, and he didn’t like it one bit. Folding his arms, he watched as the man rang in Cobblepot’s number.

“You have a visitor~” He hummed in a sing song voice. Bruce heard loud footfalls and the man, whom he identified as Jack due to the nametag grinned. “You must be something important if he is running.”

“A fat joke? That seems distasteful.” Bruce rolled his eyes as Cobblepot slammed the door open, heaving with exertion.

“Mister Wayne! I am terribly sorry that I was delayed, but that monster was on the streets again. Luthor needs to build better prisons. Anyway, I am here and-“

“Ooh, do I get to watch a deal? Fascinating.”

“Be gone, you pest! This is an important client.” Cobblepot turned to him. “I am terribly sorry. I can guarantee he will keep his mouth shut on secrets, despite how much he blathers on. If he was a snitch he would have already been dealt with.” Bruce opted not to read between the two obvious lines.

Bruce smacked the money down on the counter. “Just deliver, please?”

“Yes sir.” Before Cobblepot could even hand over the material, Bruce snatched it, and with a needle in his pocket, went into the washroom.

“I’m not cleaning that up.” He could hear Jack snicker.

Once it was done, it was instant relief. He could swear his back straightened right up, and he smirked just a bit, properly stuffing the remainder in his suit jacket, where not even Alfred would be able to spot it. He walked out of the washroom with almost a ghost of a smile.

“That must have been one good shit.” Bruce’s smile was instantly gone.

“Jack! Enough! Serve this man a drink at once. It is coming out of today’s pay.” Cobblepot barked.

“Damn. Alright sweetheart, what would you like?”

“…Sweetheart?” 

“It’s my schtick. People who inject in bathrooms generally are not my type.”

“Two drinks!”

“…Damn it.”

Bruce chuckled at the pout on the thin man’s face. “Keep going, I like not having to pay for my liquor. I will take two shots of the crown royal, with a mint garnish.”

Jack looked slightly disturbed, but he made the drink anyway, as if someone had expected him to melt cheese on sushi, and he passed both to him. As much as the idea of having two drinks appealed to him, he wanted to prove Jack wrong on something. Make him drink his own words, if you will.

“No. This one is for you. Because I want to prove you wrong at something.”

“Oh? Are you normally this fun when you are high?”

“When I want someone to eat their words.” Bruce smirked, just waiting.

“Well, I’m more of a JD guy myself but you know…” Jack tipped it back, and for a moment appeared shock. “What the fuck that is actually delicious.”

“The customer is always right.”

“Yeah, until he thinks a jug is a shot.” Jack rolled his eyes with a grin. “Congratulations though, you win this time.”

Cobblepot looked both relieved and satisfied, as if he assumed he had somewhere else he could have gone for untainted heroin. “Excellent. Well, I have other customers I need to attend to. Enjoy your day, Mister Wayne.”

“Thank you Cobblepot. I may need to adjust my schedule to meet on Tuesdays. Is that alright with you?” Jack’s eyebrow rose.

“Yes, that would seem excellent to me. Good day.”

“Good day.”

Now, that had almost been worth the wait. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about this story, I just had multiple exams. Ironically I am finishing it in the wake of two exams, but hey, I wanted to finish it for you folks.


End file.
